


girl

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Beatles Tribute [25]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Domestic Violence, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: “Thank you,” the girl says then, so quiet, but Brandon can still hear her, and he gives her a smile.“You’re welcome,” he says.He hopes his mom had had someone in her life, before he was born and while that man had still been alive, who gave her a Reese’s peanut butter cup.





	girl

**Author's Note:**

> "Girl" was written by John Lennon for the _Rubber Soul_ album. It touches a bit on John's thoughts on christianity, but it mainly explores finding the ideal woman - who John later said turned out to be Yoko without him even knowing it at the time. Despite that, (not a John/Yoko fan) "Girl" is also one of the best Beatles songs - and that's not an opinion. That's just a fact.

…

It’s not like television.

When there is a case, it’s go-go-go because the longer it takes to solve a murder, the smaller the chances get of solving it at all. But when there’s not a case, hours can tick by until it can finally be time to go home for the evening. The Homicide Detective Department at the Wintertown Police Station works on a rotation, the detectives taking turns. When one catches a case, the next waiting moves up and so on and so on.

It’s not Grandpa Arthur’s turn yet, so he’s sitting at his desk, going over case notes, making sure he has all of the facts right before he has to go to court the next day to testify. 

Brandon sits in the other chair at his desk, across from him, doing his homework. He likes to come to the police station whenever his grandpa doesn’t mind having him there and his parents don’t mind either – as long as Arthur isn’t going to crime scenes or looking at crime scene photos in front of Brandon.

It isn’t as if the Wintertown Police Station is any quieter than home with four little brothers and sisters. If anything, Brandon is able to do his homework, read or even sleep when there’s absolute chaos around him. His dad has told him that that’s a very useful skill to have – for now and for later in life.

In the police station, there are phones ringing, conversations, sirens outside, people being booked – _noise_ – everywhere. But Brandon keeps his head down, his eyes focused on his English textbook in front of him. He’s supposed to read the passage and find the theme. Why does he have to find the theme. Why does there _have_ to be a theme? Can’t he just read something for enjoyment without finding hidden meanings? Can’t an author just write something with no ulterior motive; without English teachers everywhere picking it apart?

He sighs heavily and Arthur lifts his head from his own reading, smiling at him.

“Need a break?” He asks.

Brandon tosses his pencil down in the crack of the open book and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “If I don’t become a police officer, I’m going to be a writer and in every single thing I write, I’m going to make a note. Dear English teachers, there is no point to this. Don’t force there to be a point.”

Arthur smiles at that. “Need some brain food?” He asks, already reaching for his wallet in his desk drawer.

“Coffee?” Brandon perks up at that.

“Yeah, right,” Arthur smirks and Brandon grins.

Arthur had let Brandon have a cup – a _small_ cup, he had kept insisting – of coffee from the breakroom one day when Brandon had been here, on an afternoon much like this, and when it was found out, Arthur had Sansa, Catelyn and Lyanna all coming at him for it.

“Thanks, grandpa.” Brandon takes the bill notes Arthur hands him and stands up from his chair, stretching the muscles he hasn’t moved for a couple of hours. “Do you want anything?”

“Snickers and don’t tell your grandma.”

Brandon grins and heads away from the desks in the detective bullpen. The vending machines are down one of the front hallways of the station, near booking where people get their mug shots taken and give finger prints. Brandon is always sure to not make eye contact with anyone. It’s certainly not his first time near booking – he doesn’t dare tell his mom or grandmas that grandpa lets him go to the vending machines alone – but that doesn’t mean that there’s never the smallest level of nervousness.

He’s only eleven and the men and women being booked into jail are obviously there for a reason.

In the vending machine hallway, there is a row of plastic chairs against the wall and there is a young woman sitting on one. Brandon makes sure he hardly glances to her.

He goes to the candy vending machine and gets Grandpa Arthur’s Snickers bar first. He then stands, looking over the different sweets to see which one he has the taste for the most. He hears a sniffle behind him and naturally, he looks in the reflection of the thick plastic of the vending machine to look at the woman. And when he sees her, he finds himself going still.

Her face…

Someone has beaten her.

She’s bruised – all over – and Brandon tells himself to not stare and yet, he can’t move his eyes away from looking at her in the plastic reflection. She’s not old. Maybe twenty. Maybe a year older or a year younger. How could someone do that? He might want to be a police officer when he grows up and then a homicide detective, but that doesn’t mean that he can believe – or understand – the things people do to each other.

It scares him and yet, he knows why he wants to do this when he grows up. He wants to make sure that guys who beat up girls like that can’t do it anymore.

He thinks of his mom. The man who had done such things to her is dead. That’s what his mom and dad said. He’s dead and Brandon refuses to feel bad for being glad about that. He’s seen his mom’s scars. Anyone who did that her deserves to be dead.

Brandon feeds the machine the other bill note and hits the button for the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. With the candy, he pauses, still facing the machine.

How old was his mom when that man did those things to her? Did she ever sit in a police station like this girl behind him, bruised and sniffling?

Brandon turns to face her. He doesn’t say anything. What could he even say to her? He hesitates for just a moment before he goes and sits down in the chair next to her. The girl instantly turns her head to look at him, but then, she quickly looks away again, not wanting him to see her face. Brandon carefully opens up his candy and then, taking one of the peanut butter cups, he holds it in his palm in front of her, offering it.

She looks at it for a long minute, neither of them speaking and Brandon not lowering his hand away.

Slowly, she turns her head to look at him again. Brandon doesn’t flinch at her face. He wants to, but he also knows that if he flinches, that’s the worst thing he could do right now. He makes sure to look at her right in the eyes – well, eye since the other is practically swollen shut – and keeps offering her the Reese’s cup.

Finally, and moving cautiously as if she expects Brandon to pull it back at the last moment, she takes the Reese’s from his palm. He chooses not to get up though. He remains sitting there and settling back in his seat, he begins eating the other peanut butter cup.

“Thank you,” the girl says then, so quiet, but Brandon can still hear her, and he gives her a smile.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

He hopes his mom had had someone in her life, before he was born and while that man had still been alive, who gave her a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

…

Sansa laughs. “How did you survive before we got married?” She wonders.

Jon grins and shrugs. “All of my socks are white. You, on the other hand, buy socks with colored stripes and _anyone_ can mix these stripes up. Don’t act like I’m incompetent.”

“Well…” Sansa smiles. “Only _slightly _incompetent. Maybe even a little color blind.”

“Your socks are cruel, love.” And then to prove his point, he holds up one with black and gray stripes and another with navy blue and gray stripes. “Cruel,” he emphasizes again and Sansa just laughs some more.

They both turn their heads from where they sit on their bed, folding the mound of laundry in front of them, when they hear the knock on their open door.

“Hi, sweetling,” Sansa keeps smiling when she sees Brandon standing in the doorway.

Since returning from spending the afternoon with his grandpa at the police station, both Sansa and Jon have noticed that Brandon has been a little on the quiet side, but when Jon called Arthur after dinner to see if anything had happened, Arthur had said that it had been a pretty quiet day – homework for the both of them. Obviously, something had happened though – and if not at the station, somewhere else, but what it could have been, neither Jon or Sansa have any idea.

“Would you like to help?” Sansa asks. “Your father is not the best at matching socks.”

“And yet, your mom can’t fold my tee-shirts as well as I can,” Jon smiles and Sansa rolls her eyes, both of his parents making the smallest smile form across Brandon’s lips.

“Can I… is it okay if I spend a little time with mom?” Brandon asks, looking to Jon. “Just the two of us?”

Sansa and Jon exchange a quick glance to one another before back to Brandon.

“Of course, Brandon,” Sansa smiles.

“I should go check on things downstairs. George is being _way_ too quiet.” Jon pulls himself from the bed, tossing two socks at Sansa, making her laugh, and as he passes Brandon, he gives him what he thinks is a wink and Brandon smiles, looking down to the carpet.

When it’s just the two of them, Sansa pats the spot where Jon had been sitting and Brandon comes to the bed, climbing up to sit with her. Sansa hands Brandon the two socks Jon had tossed at her and Brandon’s smile is a little bigger now. He places one down to find the proper match and together, he and Sansa resume folding laundry, both quiet. Sansa looks over to him every few moments, but she won’t ask him what’s on his mind. Brandon isn’t the sort to talk unless he’s ready to.

But then, Brandon stops folding socks and he looks at her. “I love you, mom.”

Sansa stops folding pairs of superhero underwear to look at her oldest. She gives him a soft smile. “I love you, too, Brandon. So, so much.” Brandon smiles, too. She reaches out, resting a hand on the back of his head. “And you know that you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” Brandon nods and looks down to the two socks in his hand.

Sansa waits, wondering if he’ll say anything more, but he stays quiet.

“Mom?”

Sansa’s eyes are instantly on him. “Yes?”

“What’s your favorite candy?”

…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you!


End file.
